


Until The End

by staymagical



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean lance, Alternate Universe, Angst, Galra Keith, Galtean AU, Klance Secret Santa 2020, M/M, Off screen happy ending, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: With the war between the Galra and the Alteans raging through the land, Keith always seems to be on edge. As the prince of the Galra, he has every right to be. His head is worth more on a spike than it is leading men on the battlefield. Not that he yearns for either.No, the one thing he yearns for is peace between the two races and to no longer hide his burning love for Lance, the Altean Queen's right-hand man.The very man who is standing in his tent in the dead of night, armed with a knife and new orders from his queen.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 145





	Until The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely blue_girl_artist on Instagram as part of the Klance gift exchange. 
> 
> Wow, let me just say it was an honor to make these pieces for you as I realized when I got your name that I've been following you on Instagram for a while now and really enjoy your art! And your desire for Galtean angst was perfection and I was more than happy to deliver. 
> 
> Had this story and scene in my head when I read your prompt however the words were slow to come but the image was so clear. Decided to draw it and when I finished, the words were so much easier to put down so hell, why not just do both. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed creating them. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! Hope it's a great one and full of many more of your beautiful art pieces! Can't wait to see what else you create :D

The night is still young when Keith wakes with fear in his heart and adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

For a beat, nothing seems amiss, his tent darkened with the night, shadows invading every nook and cranny of the thick material surrounding him. The linens and furs wrapped around him encase him in a warmth rarely felt these days as winter rages through the kingdom freezing the waters and dusting the land in powdered snow. 

And such luxuries are a true rarity of war.

The eye of the storm.

The soft rustle of fabric has his ear perking up and he turns his head, catching the barest of movements by the flap of his tent. Keith freezes, blinking as the shadow beside his wardrobe coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape.

He sits up straight in the darkened tent, hand curling around the knife under his pillow and unsheathing it with practiced ease. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

The shadow doesn’t move, only the quiet breath heard in the eerie silence as Keith’s eyes focus, picking out a lean frame before the figure moves, slowly but deliberately throwing off their hood.

And faint blue marks set aglow an achingly familiar face.

“Lance?” Keith whispers, his heart lodging in his throat with both elation and overwhelming dread. Lance is here, in his tent deep in the heart of the Galra war camp.

In the middle of a fierce battle for rights and liberties and destruction of the entire planet. 

With Keith at the center.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asks, striking the lamp beside his pallet and illuminating his tent in soft candlelight. It can’t be more than a few hours from dawn, the stench of blood and war still permeating the air from yesterday’s hard-fought battle. They’re at a stalemate, neither side able to gain ground nor cut numbers to claim a victory and the men are weary. 

Hell, Keith is weary. 

But all that exhaustion burns away as the light washes over Lance’s face, the pallor of his skin, the bags under his eyes, and the tear tracks tracing down his cheeks.

“Lance?” Keith is up out of bed in a flash, heart in his throat as trepidation squeezes the air from his lungs. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

The fact that Lance is standing here at all, having made his way past the guards patrolling outside Keith’s tent, the restless men wandering the camp and those posted at the edge of the tree line is a miracle in and of itself. But Keith knows Lance better than anyone, knows his skills lie not with the blade at his waist but with the knives hidden on his person, that if he truly did not want to be seen or heard, he could easily do so.

And that he would not be here and risk discovery in the enemy’s camp if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.

Keith knows this but he can’t help the relief and yearning he feels coursing through his veins. His fingers ache to touch, to feel that familiar bronze skin, to trace the dips and juts of his body, to soak in the warmth of his heart. They’ve been apart too long and now, with Lance standing here before him, the ache that had been building for weeks is irrepressible. 

He reaches out but Lance stops him with a raised hand, voice cracking at the edges as he breathes out, “Don’t.”

Keith falters, freezing where he stands at the hard sharp tone of the word. 

Of the warning.

Because it is a warning and as Keith finally tears his eyes from Lance’s face, he understands. Dark shades of blue have replaced Lance’s usual attire of whites and turquoise, his customary ceremonial metal plated armor exchanged for soft leather laced expertly over his forearms and wrists. And his boots, supple and flexible, crafted for stealth and speed rather than the sturdy harsh terrain on the battlefield. 

But it’s the knives, unsheathed and gripped with familiar ease in his hands, glinting in the candlelight that steals Keith’s breath and fell any elation he had begun to harbor. He drops his outstretched hand and meets Lance’s gaze once more. 

Agony, confliction, heartbreak all flickering in Lance’s eyes, the very same eyes that crinkle with mirth at the end of a joke and overflow with fondness and love during every rendezvous. But now Keith can see the war raging beneath the surface.

And above all, he can see wavering loyalty. To whom, he does not know.

It does not matter.

“I must confess,” Keith manages to say around the lump in his throat, cold seeping through his bones, “I had begun to believe this day may never come.”

The knives flash as Lance shifts but his gaze doesn’t leave Keith’s, eyes a brilliant blue in the flickering candlelight. “As did I,” he says softly. 

Had it been anyone else, even his own father standing before him in the dead of night in such a fashion, Keith would have felt threatened. With the ruthless Galra customs, the treason Keith commits in secret by consorting with an Altean, not to mention the numerous plots he has conceived in an attempt to negotiate peace behind his father’s back, it’s a wonder he hasn’t been killed by his own kind already. He’s a threat to the Alteans, a liability to the Galra, and the puppet prince and commander of the very army wreaking havoc across the land. There is no shortage of beings who want him dead.

But with Lance, he feels no fear.

He should. Even armed with a knife of his own, he stands no chance. Many have underestimated Lance and paid the hefty price, no longer able to tell tales of their encounter with the Altean queen’s right hand. Keith had been one such victim years ago when they first met. Now the man has stolen his heart, ensnared his loyalty, and manipulated the world he thought he knew.

A hefty price indeed.

One Keith would gladly pay over and over.

Keith lets his own knife slip from his fingers, landing on the rug with a muffled _thunk_ of final conviction. Lance’s gaze flicks to it briefly but Keith’s doesn’t falter, watching Lance with silent promises as a gentle smile tugs at his lips and says, “Guess we have both been found the fool.”

Lance chuckles, the sound wet and hoarse. “In more ways than one.”

“Love truly does make fools of us all in the end,” Keith states with a genuine smile of his own, soft and warm with a levity he rarely expresses. 

Lance winces at Keith’s choice of words, “the end” hanging between them heavy and thick like acrid smoke.

And this is the end, whether in just this sense or with bloody finality. The end of what they used to be, of what they could be, of what they are. There’s no going back now that the queen has played her last card. Their path has taken a sharp left turn and it’s taking all of Keith’s willpower and strength to hold on and hope that Lance finds this journey worth the effort to hold on as well.

Finds him worth it.

Keith just wishes they had a little more time to plan. More time to figure out their next step, to finalize the peace between their two races that they both so desperately seek. To end the death and destruction and bloodshed with their lives and their love still intact. But like most things in his life, this too has been wrestled from his hands and out of his control.

Keith studies Lance carefully, how he stands balanced and steady, his fingers gripping leather wrapped hilts with ease. On the outside, he’s dressed the part, one he’s been forced to play many times before but Keith has always been more attuned with Lance’s heart than anything else. The minuscule hitch in his breath, the subtle tick of his fingers, the pain in his eyes and slight tilt of his chin. He’s conflicted, cracking at the seams and breaking down inside.

A notion Keith is all well too familiar with himself.

“What do you plan to do?” he asks carefully. Though he doesn’t expect a sure answer from Lance, he’s desperate for something, anything, even if it’s just to hear the soothing timbre of his voice.

Lance shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut until a few tears escape down his cheeks. “My only thought was to run to you,” he chokes out with a watery smile. He chuckles again as he meets Keith’s gaze, breaking and reforming before Keith’s very eyes and it _hurts_. “Counter-intuitive perhaps but I—I can’t—”

“Lance.”

Lance shakes his head again as if trying to dislodge the words from his mind, eyes shimmering. “I don’t have a choice.”

“I know,” Keith says softly taking a step forward. Lance doesn’t budge from where he stands by the tent’s entrance, golden yellow fabric highlighting his dark form.

“The queen’s orders must be obeyed,” he continues trying to convince himself.

Keith nods. “I know.”

“I am bound to her whims, I swore an oath I cannot break.”

His words are coming out in a rush now, panicked as his convictions fall from his shoulders like overloaded weight to land at their feet. 

Keith takes another step, trodding over them as he keeps his voice soft and even. “Lance, I know. I understand.”

That finally seems to knock Lance back down to the present. He blinks, once, twice, before he seems to realize how close Keith has gotten during his reasoning. And that his own left hand has raised, knife at the ready, Altean blue threatening to spill Galra blood.

“Then you know why I am here,” he states, voice dropping to something quieter, something heavy and pained.

Keith raises his hands in a mockery of surrender. Or perhaps placation of his instincts which scream at him to defend himself, to back away from the threat of the Altean knight he’s come to love. 

“Yes.”

There’s a beat, held on bated breath and locked gazes, where not even Keith’s ears twitch for fear of breaking the stalemate they stand in. They just stare at each other, studying these final moments, drinking one another in as they are and as they have been before the ax falls and they both are forced to change what they have become in order to emerge alive.

And all at once, they break.

Keith lurches forward and grabs Lance’s wrist, his other arm snaking around to the small of his back as he pulls him into a hungry desperate kiss. Lance goes willingly, meeting Keith just as desperately, lips parting in open invitation. For a moment, just the barest of moments despite their heated embrace, Lance is tense like a cobra coiled to strike. Like a hunter with their prey right where they want them.

Keith deepens the kiss, relishing, feeling, breathing for what could be the final time.

One beat.

Two beats.

A breath.

There’s a _clang_ of metal hitting the floor to his right followed quickly by another to the left before a warm calloused hand threads through Keith’s hair just behind his ear. His tongue sides against Lance’s as the wrist in his hand twists and he releases his hold to wrap Lance more firmly in his embrace and pull him flush against his body.

And all the tension bleeds out of Lance.

That’s the only answer Keith needs.

He lets his hands wander across Lance’s back, soaking in the achingly familiar feel of his body, of his lips, of just Lance, here in his arms. His heart swells, beating fast beneath its cage as it yearns to soar.

Gone is the war, gone is the conflict, the threat of death, of discovery, of treason. In this moment only Lance exists, his hands, his fingers, his lips and tongue and nose and cheeks and all of him. Everything else fades away until Keith is sure this is how it has always been, just the two of them in the universe, their hearts beating as one and love bright enough to light the darkest days. 

It’s all he needs and all he wants.

Eventually, their desperation melts into something softer, tender pushes and pulls that leave Keith simmering with linger passion. Lance’s fingers stroke over the fur of his ears and cup the side of his jaw, loving in their touch and soothing in their presence. The lump in Keith’s throat turns into something that tastes less like dread and more like relief, like overwhelming emotions that threaten to spill out. 

His eyes prickle, his fingers shaking and he curls his hands deeper into Lance’s back, pulling him in closer just to make them stop.

Lance gives him one last lingering kiss before breaking it off with a final caress of his tongue. Keith tightens his hold on Lance to keep him near but Lance only tilts his head until his forehead rests against Keith’s, their breaths heavy and mingling in the space between them.

“This is treason,” Lance whispers, eyes still closed, tears not yet dry on his cheeks.

Despite the looming threat of death above them, Keith huffs out a chuckle, reveling in the feeling of Lance. “You ought to be familiar with that by now.”

Just as Keith is. They both have committed more treason since this war began than either of them ever thought possible. 

And all for falling in love with the wrong person.

Lance chuckles, his breath ghosting warm against Keith’s lips. “I would ask you to run away with me but I know you won’t.” Then his voice drops, tone losing what little humor it held as he soberly states, “You’d rather face the ax than abandon your kingdom.”

Keith doesn’t deny it. “As would you,” he says instead, not harsh or pointed, merely stating a fact. 

They truly are both fools. 

“Except your death would do nothing to settle this war,” Lance states with a shake of his head. His hands drop from Keith’s hair to tighten around his nape, holding firmly as if Keith is about to float away. A shiver runs down Keith’s spine with the emotion infused in such a simple act. “If anything, it would only aggravate it. I am nobody in comparison.”

His final statement is said with the same casual air one would use to talk of the weather or the latest fashions. Casual, brief, to the point. Another mere statement of fact. Anger rises in Keith’s breast and he growls under his breath, sharp canines flashing as he lets go of Lance’s waist to cup his face in his hands.

“You are somebody to me,” he says with all the love and anguish and yearning he can instill into the words. He’s burning, his skin on fire, his heart aflame. With love, with fierce protection, with a deep-seated emotion he can’t quite place. But his words are dripping it in and he lets them flow. “And that in itself is a catalyst that can turn the tides. You know that better than I do.”

Lance exhales, long and drawn, resigned but not displeased. Instead, his lips quirk ever so slightly up in a hint of a smile. “Then we’ll face it together. Come what may, I’m with you until the end.”

With his thumb, Keith strokes Lance’s cheek, wiping the remnants of tears and relishing in the feel of his warm skin against his fingers. Then he leans forward and kisses him once more. He draws it out, delicate and tender, soaking up the taste of hope and longing on Lance’s tongue before pulling back and breathing his own promise into Lance’s lips. 

“Until the end.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Drop a kudo or a comment and tell me what you think. I also enjoy constructive criticism so don't be shy.
> 
> Also check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles, short fics, and the rare art piece: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


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